


forgotten, but not for long

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: After an incident, Jaskier forgets his memories of Geralt and their travels. Geralt tries to find a way to help him get them back.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 121





	forgotten, but not for long

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt always _warned_ Jaskier to stay away, but he never listened. Tonight would apparently be no exception. He was fighting a beast when he caught a glimpse of the bard in the shadows, holding the dagger he had so generously gifted him years ago. “ _Fuck_ ,” he cursed under his breath, barely avoiding a swat from the beast, jumping back a few feet.

“Get out of _here!_ ” he snarled, and Jaskier startled, taking a step back but not leaving. Stubborn bastard.

The beast perked up, and Geralt hoped dearly that the beast would not turn. But then the beast did just that, and rushed toward Jaskier. Geralt’s stomach lurched as he ran. He was _fast_ \- faster than any human - but the beast was still faster.

Reaching Jaskier, who was frozen to his spot in fear, the beast swatted at him. Jaskier went flying - literally - across the forest, hitting a tree and slumping to the ground limply.

Geralt felt like a wild animal, hot with anger, as he swung his sword and sliced the beast’s head off.

The beast fell to the ground and their head rolled a few feet before stopping. Geralt didn’t stop for a second - he sheathed his sword as he rushed over to Jaskier, kneeling in front of him. There was a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth but - after feeling him over - Geralt deducted he didn’t seem to have any serious injuries.

Thank the Gods, he thought, because that had been a hard hit. “Jaskier,” he said, gently jostling him.

It was evident he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. Geralt stood and picked him up, cradling him in his arms as he trudged back to their camp. Roach was still there, like expected, and the fire was still roaring, their bedrolls tossed haphazardly on the ground from the night before. Geralt placed Jaskier down, and Roach snorted loudly.

“He’s okay,” he assured her without looking up. Over the years, all of his horses seemed to get attached to Jaskier. It was annoying, but also unsurprising. Jaskier had a way of getting under your skin and lodging himself there. Geralt knew that better than most.

Geralt brushed some hair out of Jaskier’s face before standing up. “Keep an eye on him, eh?”

Roach snorted again, and he grabbed his bag before walking to the nearest stream. He refilled their canister of water and washed as much blood off him as he could, which wasn’t much. Satisfied, he walked back to camp.

The first thing he noticed, fairly quickly, was that Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.

Geralt dropped his bag and glanced at Roach. She stared back at him with her dark eyes. Right, well, he couldn’t actually expect much from a horse. Not to mention, she was tied up.

He shook his head and walked over to the fire, poking at it with a stick. No worries. He was probably just off relieving himself. If anything, he thought, this was a good sign. He was already up and moving again.

Just seconds later, he heard footsteps and stood up, readying to turn, “Are you feeling — ”

Geralt cut himself off when he felt something, sharp and cold, press against the back of his neck. Geralt stared at the fire. He silently raised his hands in the air. “Jaskier, what are doing?” he asked, because he knew it was him.

He could smell him, oak and honey, tainted with the scent of fear. Likely, that was the dagger he had bought for him currently pressed against his throat.

“Wh — where am I?” he asked, confirming it was Jaskier. “I don’t — who the fuck are you?”

If Geralt was confused before, he was completely at a loss now. He kept his hands in the air and slowly, slowly turned. Jaskier let him, though he kept his dagger against his throat. One look at the bard’s face and he knew something was terribly wrong.

“Jaskier — ”

Jaskier frowned and pressed his dagger, harder, against the skin of his neck. “How do you know my name?”

Geralt’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “Jaskier, what are you talking about?” Jaskier growled and pressed harder. Geralt felt a pinch of pain, barely anything, but he knew if he touched his neck his fingers would come back bloody. That definitely proved Jaskier wasn’t thinking clearly. Geralt had no doubt in his mind Jaskier would never hurt him, not if he could help it. “Jaskier, we’re — we’re _friends_ ,” he said, the word catching in the back of his throat.

He had never _called_ him that, though he had thought it plenty.

And, frankly, he saw Jaskier as _more_ than a friend. He was family to him. Annoying, sometimes, sure, but he was the one person he trusted the most. And yet here he was, holding a dagger to his neck with wild eyes. “I don’t know you,” he said, but the words fell flat, like he didn’t quite believe them. “I – I don’t think I do, anyway.”

Geralt finally understood. He reached up, slow. Jaskier glared, eyes hardening.

“Don’t,” he said.

Geralt didn’t listen. He knew Jaskier would not kill, not without knowing for certain it was the right thing to do. He grasped his wrists and gently pulled Jaskier’s hand - and the dagger - away from his throat. Jaskier let him, not fighting it.

“You were attacked by a beast, Jaskier,” he said. “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard, because…”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “Because what?”

Geralt frowned, “You seem to be experiencing some minor amnesia.” He said minor if only because he seemed to at least know his own name, which was good, but he obviously had no memories of Geralt and they’d been traveling together - on and off - for years. Minor was, frankly, an understatement.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, looking rightfully terrified. “Wait, are we really — ” he gestured wildly between them, and Geralt nodded. He let out a sob and dropped the dagger. “I’m so, so sorry. I — I woke up in an unfamiliar place and I got scared, and — and I was covered in dirt and blood and — ”

Geralt shook his head and tugged him forward against his chest, placing a hand on the back of his head. “You did the right thing,” he said gruffly. Jaskier trembled against him. “Always protect yourself; I’ve told you that many times.”

Jaskier looked up at him with wet eyes. He suddenly looked so young, like he had somehow regressed years in just a couple hours. “I — I really don’t know what’s going on,” he whispered.

“I know,” he replied. “Sit down. I’ll find us something to eat, and then we’ll talk.”

Jaskier hesitated, but ultimately he did sit, close to the fire, warming his shaking hands. Geralt picked his dagger up and tucked it away in Jaskier’s bag before he grabbed his sword and disappeared to find them something for supper.

Mostly he just needed a moment alone to think about what the fuck they were doing to do.


End file.
